


Whiskey, Cigarettes, and the Endless Void of Space

by mens_enim_formicularum



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Doug Eiffel, Animal Attack, M/M, Post canon, Whiskey - Freeform, dog attack tw, doug eiffel has addictive tendencies, funky cowboy man, haircuts :))), kepler deserves redemtion, kepler has suicidal thoughts big tw for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26641087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mens_enim_formicularum/pseuds/mens_enim_formicularum
Summary: Warren Kepler was a simple man, to a degree. He did what needed to be done, for the greater good and whatnot, and then went out, not with a bang, but with a bottle of whiskey and the silence of space. Except the story doesn’t end there. Because before he knows it he’s onboard the Urania.
Relationships: Doug Eiffel/Warren Kepler
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Kilonova](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975551) by [Wilt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilt/pseuds/Wilt). 



> ok, this is my first fic ive actually planned out and is probably gonna be long.   
> TW for:  
> suicidal ideation  
> addiction  
> existential crises

“This is communications officer Douglas Eiffel, reporting live from the U.S.S. Hephaestus! Dear listeners, the comma-“ the radio with another Eiffel’s voice trapped within is cut off with a click.  
The man sat at the communications panel looks away from Wolf 359, which seemed to be taunting him with the ashes of his memories, to Renee Minkowski looking down on him with a look of utter pity. She holds in one hand the small radio. He sees her mouth begin to form words, and begrudgingly removes his headset. She realizes this and starts over.  
“Kepler woke up,” she explains in a slightly hoarse voice, “I know you don’t know who he is very well, but I figured I would let you know. In case you wanted to see him.”  
She sighs and takes a moment to think, clearly hoping Eiffel will ease the tension that hovers in the space between her memories of him and the stranger he still sees her as. He takes the hint.  
“I kind of got the impression he was one of the big baddies. I figured you two would have tossed him into the cold clutches of space by now or something.”  
He tries to force a soft chuckle, and she does as well. Of course, immediately afterwards she thinks over his words as if trying to sort out a puzzle.   
“You don’t have to, you know.”  
“I want to. I mean, I should.”  
They share a look for a moment. The star continues to breathe it’s silent taunts through the tinted window and into Eiffel’s ear.   
“I think I want to.” She purses her lips and nods slowly, as if his words meant something more than their surface value. 

Kepler stares into his slight reflection in the metal of the floor, trying to find a shift in the color of his sandy blond hair, or the distortions he thinks he should discover in the borders of his face. But he is exactly how he was before he took a long swig and felt the warm heat of the whiskey mixing with the freezing clutches of the void on his throat after the airlock flung him towards the star. He had stayed awake far longer than he had expected. The agony of his blood crystalizing in his veins never left. On some level he is aware that his blood hadn’t just thawed, but been duplicated and replaced, along with every other particle of his body. Yet the pain in his blood refuses to leave. The door to what his captors had generously named the brig slides open, and his scowling face meets the blank stare of Douglas Eiffel. For a moment he lets down his guard at the lack of anger he saw reflected, but upon the sight of Minkowski and Lovelace’s simmering disgust he forces his face into a frown yet again.   
Warren's scratchy voice cuts through the thick silence like a meat cleaver.   
“Are the handcuffs really necessary, commander?”  
“Very.” Minkowski’s face is drawn into a stony glare, and her fingers hover over her gun.   
“How the fuck are you alive?” Lovelace asks, before he can offer up another sarcastic remark.  
“Long story short, well, I suppose it really isn’t that long to begin with. I don’t remember much of it, I presume my presence here is the work of our good friend bob.”   
“So you’re a clone?”  
“If you really want to know just shoot me commander.” Minkowski seems to strongly consider this, flicking the safety off of her gun and holding it against his forehead, almost touching his skin. Kepler gives her a taunting grin and presses his forehead flesh to the cold metal. She takes a step back and puts her weapon back in it’s holster.

The next two days Kepler is kept in the brig, only occasionally being greeted by an unusually quiet communications officer, who offers little in conversation, only there to supply him with rations.   
On his second night he is cautiously released by Minkowski, and is allowed an actual bunk to sleep in, as opposed to curling up in the sharp corner of the ‘brig’ and praying for a moment of sleep. Nobody on the crew speaks to him, other than the absolutely necessary.   
That night he yet again fails to reach sleep, and instead thinks back upon his career. 

Warren Kepler had always had a purpose. Sometimes it was unclear, even to him, but he did what needed to be done. That was supposed to be the end. He played the terrible man who manipulated and killed and ruined lives, but at the very end he pulled a 180 and did his bit in saving the world. Nobody knew what he did for them and he could end it all with whiskey freezing in his throat. But then he woke up, and there was the spitting image of Eiffel standing over his shaking body, looking disgusted (rightfully so, he wasn’t exactly stunning with his trauma-induced dry heaving) and saying something about future contact, and a complication with Doug Eiffel. And then for some reason, he was waking up in the Urania, good as new. 

Eiffel is unable to sleep as well. He faces the wall of his bunk, trying his hardest not to think about Kepler. He couldn’t think too much about the man without becoming confused by the few facts he had.   
He tries not to flinch as memory surfaces at once. 

Kepler is screaming, but for some reason he can’t make out any words. The scientist, Hilbert, was shocked. It was all mixed up, he was on the operating table, but still standing up when he watched Kepler slam shut a metal drawer, crushing the scientist’s hand in a crack and a gut wrenching scream. Kepler was standing over his shoulder now, watching as the scientist shied away from Eiffel’s gaze. He didn’t understand the memories, but he remembered trusting Warren, even when he hurt the scientist. But then again, his memories were not to be trusted. After all, this could be some fabrication of his subconscious. He chalks it up to just that.

Warren is staring at the ceiling and trying not to get existential and/or fling himself out of the airlock again, this time with a with a new bottle of whiskey. He pushes the thin white sheet off of his legs, and places his feet softly on the ground, and stands up to leave the room. He planned to go on a walk alone, but cant help but hesitate at Eiffel’s door. He gives in and clicks the button on the wall, and seeing Eiffel immediately look up, gestures with his hand for the man to follow him. The door slides shut softly and in a moment Eiffel is walking alongside him.   
“If they found out you escaped their high security bunk they might reconsider jettisoning you man.”  
“You seem to be back to your previous humor. What had gotten you down in the dumps so long?”  
Kepler had been trying to joke, but Eiffel went silent.   
“Did I cross a line? I figured I had more reason to mourn considering I was closer to the colleagues I fucked over.” Eiffel hums slightly in response, hesitating before he opens his mouth.  
“Did they not tell you about me?” Kepler gives him a confused look, pushing him to elaborate.  
“I, um, I had to give up all of my memories. When Pryce was in my head. I’ve been listening to some old logs, and Minkowski and Lovelace told me some other stuff, but I-“ he stops to gauge Kepler’s response.   
“I’m not just moping around for no reason is the point I suppose.”  
“I had been wondering why you weren’t talking any ears off. Good to know I suppose.” Eiffel gave him a strange look and opened his mouth, trying to find his words.  
“Aren’t you, I mean, weren’t you, you know. One of the big bad evil guys. I don’t mean this in a bad way, well I suppose there’s no other way to mean it, but, well fuck, I would figure you still had some elaborate evil plan.” Kepler laughs loudly at this.  
“If you consider drinking a lot of whiskey an elaborate evil plan, most definitely, but otherwise no. Sorry to disappoint.” Eiffel gave him the same look of pity others did, before his days at Goddard futuristics, when all he wanted was to drink himself to death.   
That look of pity always used to turn him bitter, but with Eiffel’s warm eyes staring him down, all he wanted to do was fix himself for the man.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eiffel is an idiot.

In the various mutinous shenanigans onboard the Urania, the cryostasis chambers became inoperable. So, they had two months of pacing, silent meals, and watching Home Alone 2 as many times as possible, before they could get home. Whatever home even was anymore.

Jacobi is so ready to punch Kepler in the fucking face. Frankly, he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about their many years as colleagues, which he spent considering Kepler his closest friend, second only to Alana Maxwell. Because Warren Kepler had fucked up, big time, and he wasn’t about to forgive the little shit. He was a coward, and apparently even when Pryce and Cutter were literally trying to kill every other human being, he was willing to await their every beck and call.

(Unbeknownst to Jacobi, Kepler did side with the good guys, but he isn’t about to admit to having a moral compass any time soon.)

But Jacobi only has three other people to talk to, one of which killed his best fucking friend, and the other two, who likely sympathize with her. So on one of the many days they are all moping around the Urania, he acknowledges Kepler’s existence for the first time.

“As far as I see it, there is one option for a tribute to Maxwell. We base an entire AI off of her using her code and use recordings of her voice to piece together a recreation of her vocal patterns. I might still despise you, but you loved her too, somewhere in that frozen solid heart of yours.” Kepler tries to hide the look of regret that inevitably crosses his face; after all, he failed her. He was the reason she was dead. He settled on a response. “I figured you would go for a more explosive tribute, considering you’re the resident pyromaniac.” Jacobi forces a tight-lipped smile and tries his best to pretend he doesn’t hate Kepler’s guts.

“I figured I wouldn’t make a tribute to her life all about me,” He gives up his façade of forgiveness, “unlike other people I could name, I actually have morals.” The two men go silent.

And so, Kepler’s only hope for conversation is Eiffel.

That night, Eiffel decides to join him yet again in strolling through the halls until the others wake up. He initiates their walk this time, opening his door and looking expectantly like a dog asking for a walk. Even if Kepler were trying to sleep, he wouldn’t be able to say no to his expectant eyes.

They walk in silence again for a few minutes, as if the last few nights Eiffel hasn’t spilt his guts out, before Kepler finally speaks.

“I figured you should know, I-“ Kepler stops. He doesn’t want or need pity; so why the fuck does Eiffel need to know that he had been one of the good guys.

“Never mind. Did I tell you about that time I had to enter a knitting contest in order to assassinate a French spy?”

“If you did I wouldn’t exactly remember, would I?”

It’s almost been an hour before he finishes telling his tale, and Eiffel surprisingly maintains interest.

“Long story short, that, my dear communications officer, is why I am legally banned from any knitting event sponsored by the International knitting committee.”

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that, but what in god’s name prompted the story time?” Kepler shrugs, and Eiffel gives him a perplexed look.

“I don’t get the evil villain vibe from you man, are you sure you aren’t secretly one of us good dudes?” Kepler curses Eiffel’s ability to guess people’s secrets on accident.

“Have you met me Eiffel? I have never been anything but irredeemably evil.” Maxwell and Jacobi would have jokingly agreed. But Maxwell was dead and Jacobi hated him with good reason. Eiffel did not jokingly agree, because he was a stubborn shit who took every joke a bit too far.

“I don’t know man, you might burn down orphanages but I doubt you could be evil enough to go along with the guys ending the world.”

“Can you leave it alone Doug?” They both go silent.

“Do you want to talk about it or something dude?”

“Eiffel. I didn’t know you were this much of an imbecile. No matter how I dealt with Pryce and Cutter at the end, I would have maintained my lack of care for anyone other than myself. I did what needed to be done.” Eiffel decides to shut up and just walk in silence with Kepler. He looks down at the man, now sulking, and appreciates the way the red light that forever stains the air has illuminated his cheeks and shines from his eyes. He turns his eyes back to the floor. They don’t speak again that night.

The next morning, as Kepler is drinking his black coffee from a pouch, Eiffel doesn’t look at him. He knows this because he’s normally the only one acknowledging him whatsoever, to the other’s palpable disappointment. He decides to watch Home Alone 2 again. He does not enjoy it.

Meanwhile, Eiffel is trying with all two of his functional brain cells to understand why Kepler was so opposed to the idea that he might not be such a terrible person. Considering he barely knows the man, he soon gives up and watches Home Alone 2 with Kepler.

_Blood is staining the snow around his feet. There’s a gun in his hand and his emotions are currently all put on hold. Maxwell was back in the jet, and Jacobi was off rigging explosives. There were 10- 11 bodies strewn on the ground like a child’s discarded toys. Maxwell’s voice in is his earpiece now. “Are you two gonna hurry the fuck up? We have ten minutes until we’re fucked. I will leave without either one of you FYI. Over.” Jacobi is chuckling now. He flashes his eyes up and his steady arm rises, his finger pulls back and a shock travels up to his shoulder. 12 bodies._

Kepler wakes up, and his face is pressed into the crook of Eiffel’s neck. Home Alone 2 is playing again, and Eiffel is asleep underneath him. He closes his eyes again, figuring it’s about time they both got some actual sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,, sorry this chapter kinda sucks. I promise the next few will be better! I just had so much writers block, in the sense that all i wanted to write today was maxwell, jacobi, and kepler before goin to space. funky evil buddies. love em. anyways i promise you i still am devoted to write this fic good! im just a bit small brained.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! they get to earth!! woot woot!

Eiffel wakes up a few hours later, and is quite perplexed when he can’t get up. He realizes the issue however, when he feels the hot breath of Kepler on his neck. Kepler looks up at him groggily, and upon realizing the situation promptly stands up, moving towards the TV to shut off Home Alone 2. Eiffel simply sits still, trying to comprehend what led up to Kepler resting his mouth in the crook of Eiffel’s neck.

Kepler wasn’t ever exactly one for physical affection. When Maxwell had given him a hug on their company New Years Eve party, he hadn’t spoken to her for a week and made it very clear that if she did again he would not hesitate to terminate her. She had done it again, and he didn’t terminate her but he did ‘accidentally’ stab her in the arm during their combat retraining. It was fine though.

Kepler can’t exactly stab the one person who doesn’t want him dead, so he settles on twenty minutes of silent treatment.  
Warren Kepler has not gone soft.

That night they don’t pace the halls and talk, because Eiffel sits himself down in Kepler’s bedroom. He sits himself at the foot of the bunk, and waits expectantly for Kepler to say something. He soon relents.

“Doug, if I ever watch Home Alone 2 again, it will be to soon.” They both chuckle as if he managed to be funny.  
Kepler’s face still defaults to a stony expression that hides any and all emotion. He was never a sentimental and doesn’t plan on changing that any time soon. His face only shattered its numb expression to show rage boiling underneath the surface, or a condescending glee that was so sickly sweet it rotted your teeth if he looked at you.

Warren Kepler has not gone soft.  
But he does break his guise of unfeeling to give Eiffel a soft smile.

The next two months pass in a similar manner. On a few occasions Kepler spoke shortly about his career with Goddard Futuristics, and Eiffel was notably distant when he did. The thought that maybe Lovelace and Minkowski were right about Kepler may have crossed Eiffel’s mind for more than a moment.

Before they know it, there’s a blue sphere visible from the observation deck. And then they can see the ocean, and the mountains, and the patchy lights of the cities coating all of the US. Then they can see houses, and trees, and the Uraniais giving its access codes, and the entire ship shudders as it’s locked down onto the landing pad.

Nobody had known to revoke Kepler’s access codes, and the two guards that meet them at the landing pad aren’t expecting the two bullets quickly shot from Jacobi’s steady gun. Minkowski glares at Kepler as he takes the pistol from its holster on one of the corpses hip, but she doesn’t move to stop him. The cold metal locks into his cold palm like an extension to his arm, an old friend that he’s finally come home to.

Kepler looks back at four behind him, and wishes he could laugh at the crew of the Hephaestus trying to regain their balance under gravity, but they have work to do.

He quickly hurries ahead and opens the heavy door, sliding his access card against the sensor. As he steps through the door, he feels a burning pain in his shoulder and a loud bang.

There are two more shots ringing in his ears and the body down the hall collapses with a soft thud.

Eiffel is at his side now, propping him up against the wall as the others file past the two of them. He chuckles; earning a worried glance from the man hunched over him, and pushes his body off of the ground. Sparks scatter from the mangled hole in his shoulder, where blood is steadily flowing. The guard hit him right where the prosthetic arm met his flesh. Its burning, and waves of cold sensations flood along his collarbone and across his chest. His arm feels like a phantom pain as opposed to a part of himself. The blood is smeared on Eiffel’s hands, and he wipes them on his jumpsuit.

It isn’t too much trouble to find whoever was in charge after Pryce and Cutter left for Wolf 359, and explain to him with a gun against his head that Pryce and Cutter were dead, and nobody was going to stop the five of them from doing what they needed to.

Eiffel stands at the doorway to the lab where Kepler is bandaging his shoulder and shutting off the electrical current in his arm.

He has nowhere to go now; Goddard had taken him directly from prison, and the apartment he had beforehand had been put up for lease once he left. Minkowski and Lovelace had made it very clear that they welcomed him to their houses, but it doesn’t feel right.

He knows Kepler better than the rest of them.

Eiffel would judge Kepler for the fraction of what he knew about his moral failings, but according to his files he can’t exactly judge. He had permanently deafened his own daughter in an attempt to kidnap her. Also, he was kind of a shitty communications officer.

He indeed only knows a fraction about Kepler; this was made evident by his surprise seeing Kepler’s blood full of wires and sparks. Perhaps that’s ideal, knowing just a few of the things that the man did to rise in the ranks at Goddard disgusted Eiffel.

Regardless of what he had done in the past, he was there for Eiffel.

Eiffel is a man, a shell of a person, with a red dwarf star staining every memory he has.

Kepler is a monster, metal and sparks, built out of the very star that filled Eiffel’s soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, rn im kind of unstable! i should be fine, hopefully ill keep updating this but if i dont, im probably fine.


	4. Chapter 4

The five leave the massive concrete building unceremoniously. Kepler sees Eiffel speaking to the two women, who both give him an angry look.

Eiffel sheepishly approaches Kepler, with his hands hidden in the pockets of his bloodstained jumpsuit.

“Do you perhaps have a couch I could crash on?” This surprises Kepler. Eiffel knew he was a bad person, right?

Kepler has no remorse over what he had done in the past. He did what he had to in order to survive. If he didn’t kill those people, somebody else would, and he would be terminated. At some point he became purely logical; his emotions came last in order of importance. He was a terrible person, who had done terrible, bloody things, and he was fine with that.

He wasn’t going to pretend that he couldn’t have told Jacobi and Maxwell that he was indeed on their side. He could have, but he would rather seem cold and unfeeling. Doing a small bit of good at the supposed end of his life did not make him any better of a person.

Similarly to Jacobi, he had been at the end of his life before Goddard found him. He had drunk himself half to death on cheap scotch from sticky bars and gas stations. He had just been dishonorably discharged from the military, because apparently he missed the memo informing him that torturing civilians for information was actually not okay.

He had always been a monster, and finally someone was willing to pay him for it. That someone happened to be Cutter.

Kepler would always be a monster, but Cutter was worse.

“can take the couch. You deserve a bed after what you’ve been through.” Eiffel gives him a small smile, nodding in response.

Warren guides him to his sleek black car, still in the Goddard parking lot. The air inside is stale and smells slightly of dust and old whiskey.

Eiffel sits in the passenger seat, with a false air of familiarity, legs up on the dashboard, head resting against the cool window. Before Kepler switches the car out of park he gestures vaguely to put his legs down. Eiffel obliges, but not without crossing his arms and donning a bitter look.

Neither of the men speaks. The air is cool and dark and salty in Chincoteague, and the base on Wallops slowly disappears from view after a few turns. Kepler’s maneuvering of the controls for the car is clumsy without his right hand, and if the streets weren’t close to empty at 2 am Eiffel would be concerned for his safety.

They stop at a traffic light.

Warren looks over at Doug, and the red light dancing over his skin is reminiscent of the star that killed them both. The air is heavy on their shoulders, and the whites of Eiffel’s eyes shine red. The green lights up his skin, and Kepler looks back at the road.

After Kepler looks away, Eiffel watches him from the corner of his eyes. His shoulders are set squarely, and his eyes betray no emotion.

Eiffel doesn’t remember his manipulation, or the chip he happily inserted into the man’s brain at the order of Cutter. Eiffel doesn’t remember that Kepler was fine letting him die, for after all Eiffel was only whiskey to him.

Kepler has to stop himself from explaining everything to Eiffel. But he had a bottle of whiskey in his desk no matter what, and it always had a place in his cupboard. There wasn’t any reason to give the scotch away now.

The car pulls into the parking structure, pausing at the gate for Kepler to wave his access card at the machine. He pulls into a parking space, and steps out of the car, the heel of his boot (a/n unspecified boot so it might as well be a cowboy boot) stomps against the concrete just hard enough to echo. Eiffel opens the trunk, lifting out the small duffel bag stocked with a few jump suits and his personal effects. Kepler shuts the trunk and locks the car with a small click from the electronic set of keys in his hand. He walks towards the elevator without looking to see if Eiffel is following, illuminating the down arrow with a press of his finger.

The two step into the elevator silently, Kepler hitting the button for the ground floor.

“Thanks for letting me crash dude. Minkowski might be cool but I have to agree with Doug 1.0, she’s kind of a hard-ass.” He flings a finger gun in the direction of Kepler, more out of instinct than an actual conscious action. Kepler nods.

“Not a bother Mr. Eiffel. I’m sure you won’t be too much trouble.”

The elevator doors open on either side of them, and they go into the lobby of the apartment complex. Eiffel’s boots squeak on the marble floor, and he earns a suspicious look from the receptionist from his bloodied clothes and face still filthy. Kepler leads him to another elevator, up to the 7th floor, and down the hall to a door bearing a metal plaque with his last name. It would be a fake name if Goddard didn’t own the building.

The door swings open to reveal fake marble floors (a cheap imitation of the lobby floor) and a small hall with a few doors. The walls are white, without any indications of who lives there except for a large armoire with various bottles of fine scotches, liqueurs, gin, and vodka lining the shelves, predominantly whiskey.

“The bathroom is the second door on the right, there should be plenty of shampoo and conditioner and whatnot.” Eiffel nods and sets his duffel down with a sigh.

When he hears the water turn on, Kepler turns and grabs a small glass. He pops open the cork to the whiskey, and pours one third of the glass.

Whiskey was meant to be sipped, savored. Kepler disregards this, downing his drink entirely before pouring another, much fuller, glass.

There was never enough hard alcohol in space.

By the time he hears the water shut off, he had only had one more glass.

Eiffel walks back into the living room in a new jumpsuit, toweling off his hair, which is now much shorter.

“Did you give yourself a haircut in my shower?”

Eiffel looks like a deer frozen in the street.

“Maybe.” Kepler sighs. He’s going to have to unclog Eiffel’s hair from the drain.

“I must say you’ve done a terrible job.”

Eiffel feels the uneven locks at the back of his head and has to agree.

“Would you rather cut it for me?” Kepler shrugs. Eiffel had been joking, but he might as well.

He walks into the bathroom, carrying a chair from his small dining room, Eiffel following close behind. He sits Eiffel down on the chair, taking the damp towel from his hands and placing it on his shoulders to avoid getting hair in his jumpsuit.

Warren takes the scissors from where Doug left them on the counter, and begins dragging his fingers lightly over his scalp, gathering small chunks of hair loosely in the scissors before cutting down. Eiffel assumes that his hair will be butchered even more, due to Kepler’s inoperable right arm, but looking into the mirror his hair is slowly evened out, a mess of waves on top, trimmed short on the sides.

“Unzip the top of your jumpsuit and lean into the shower would you?” Eiffel nods, pulling down the zipper and tying the arms tight around his hips. Scars knot their way over his chest, angry purple marks twisting across his skin. Kepler makes a point not to stare.

He turns the water on, pulling his hand through the thick hair on Eiffel’s head. He had recovered amazingly after getting stuck on the U.S.S. Unending Nightmare in his cryopod; he only had a few patches of hair missing after a few months. Now it’s back to its previous health. Once the water runs clear of any small strands of hair, he shuts the water off and gets a new towel to dry his head and shoulders. Once he finishes, Eiffel unties his sleeves and pulls them back on, zipping up the green jumpsuit as soon as possible.

Kepler opts to smoke on the small balcony instead of showering.

He takes the small carton out of its drawer in the kitchen, and steps out. It’s a small balcony, with only two feet of concrete before the thin metal railing. In a few moments Eiffel steps out behind him, takes a deep breath, and suddenly grins.

“So _that’s_ what I’ve been craving for the past three months?” Warren laughs with him, hands him a cigarette, flips open his lighter to light his own, and holds it out to Eiffel’s awaiting cigarette. 

The two are quiet, sucking earthy smoke into their lungs with a slight burn; they stare at the clouds as if the stars were visible in the slightest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i felt the need to make eiffel relive one of my favorite scenes from the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im just now getting back on a roll with my writing.  
> also, in this chapter please be advised there is an animal attack with a bit of gore described.

Kepler gets into a set of sweatpants and a light tee, and lends a near identical set of clothing to Eiffel. The sweats are too short, ending about half up his calves, and the tee shows a tiny sliver of his stomach.

He shows Eiffel to his bedroom, with a queen bed and yet again, no defining features. Warren reclines on his gray couch, the cotton scratchy on his bare arms.

He dreams again.

_He's running. Alana and Daniel are already in the jet, but he'd been held up. It seems cliche for a mob boss to have guard dogs; somehow they weren't incapacitated by the blast of Jacobi's explosives. He falls. The snow is fresh and white, burning the bare skin of his arms with shards of ice. He's almost up when something slams into him._

_It's so quiet. He doesn't open his mouth, or scream, but the dog is ripping through his arm. Two more find him. Teeth are sunk in, snapping and swallowing chunks of his muscle. He's flailing and fighting to get away, but they continue to quietly tear through his arm. One is biting his leg. A gunshot rings out, and then two more. Alana is over him now, picking him up and slinging him over her shoulder. They're on the jet now, and Alana is applying a tourniquet above the mangled section of arm. He knew it needed to be amputated._

_"It was against protocol for you to come for me."_

_"I'm so very sorry major. Such a blatant disregard of protocol, Cutter shall have my head!" She's laughing._

When he wakes up her laugh is ringing in his ears. The sun has barely started to rise, and Eiffel is most likely still asleep. He wishes he could go back, save her. Wishes that he could have been the one to die. But he wasn't, he's here, with Doug passed out on his bed, and the only other person he ever considered a friend holds a grudge against him, and isn't exactly wrong to do so.

In the few hours before Eiffel wakes up, he sends an email on a secured server to request a replacement arm from the labs at Goddard. He despises the feeling of his dead arm weighing down his shoulder; unable to hold it's own weight. It feels just like the bloody mass that Alana had loosely bandaged. When it was functional it looked identical to a human arm, but now it rested at a stiff angle and the skin looks clammy and dead, even though it wasn't alive to start with.

He looks through his inbox, and is surprised to already see an email from Minkowski.

'Kepler,

I've taken the liberty of publicizing every part of what I know of Goddard. The news will be public soon. With Pryce and Cutter dead, I'm commandeering Goddard and reforming it. Hera is suing for personhood. She's spread out on a lot of servers right now, but she's as angry and determined as ever. Make sure Eiffel knows.

I'd much prefer Eiffel with Lovelace and I, but I can't control him. I can however, make sure you know that I will not hesitate to incriminate you along with Goddard if you fuck him up.

Minkowski'

He almost laughs at the last part- the ol' shotgun talk. He doesn't write an email back yet.

When Eiffel does wake up, his hair sticking up in every direction, he's wearing another jumpsuit. The man needs some real clothing, but that's a problem for later. He's rubbing sleep from his eyes, and is half through a yawn when he starts to speak.

"Warren, are you aware you have a bed made out of heaven itself?" he mumbles. He strolls into the small kitchen as if it's his own home, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"Where's the sugar? Actually, do you have any chocolate powder?" Kepler is visibly disgusted by the notion, but opens a cabinet and takes out a bag of sugar and a small carton of cocoa powder. Eiffel looks like a kid on Christmas morning, pouring sugar and chocolate into his coffee in absurd amounts; adding in a dash of powdered creamer, as anything that would rot had been disposed of before the mission.

Eiffel sipped the sticky sweet coffee, and suddenly his head is screaming at him and he’s on the floor, writhing in the electric pain burning through his skull and along his spine.

_He was in a space suit. It was cold, colder than it should be, and droplets of water were floating around his face. The liquid started to flow in and out of his lungs with the air. He was drowning in space, and a voice surrounded by static came through his earpiece, it was the Commander, and-_

"Doug- Eiffel? Stop screaming it's okay! I've got you."

He's coughing and shaking; his head is in Warren's lap. The man's calloused hand is resting on his cheek as he wheezes for air. He still feels the water in his lungs, although there surely isn't any liquid inside his throat, which is dry for hyperventilating. His breath rattles and shakes through his chest as he slowly recovers from the episode.

"Should I call Minkowski?" he asks, still holding Eiffel. The lanky man in his lap nods; swallowing as he continues fighting for the air, which is readily available.

For half an hour they stay there, on the kitchen floor with sticky coffee on the two of them and splattered on the floor with the remains of his mug.


End file.
